


If the Night Runs Over

by NiennaNir



Series: Coulson Lives, but the Avengers might be the death of him. [12]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiennaNir/pseuds/NiennaNir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers consist of; A genetically engineered super-soldier, a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, a Norse god, a nuclear physicist with rage issues, a biotechnologically enhanced assassin, and a guy with a bow. This is the story of how the guy with the bow decided that being family to a bunch of misfits wasn't so bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Steve Rogers Held His Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Some scary, disturbing, painful crap happens in this fic. That's not to say it's all bad, if you read my stuff you know what to expect. Which is generally angst, tears, inappropriate laughter, terror, warm-fuzzies and eternal hatred of me for my attempts to own your soul. Consider this your warning.

In retrospect he really should have seen it coming. Not the explosion that blew the roof off of the old brownstone, the shattering of glass and the concussive force that hurtled him back. Realistically no one could have seen that, it was a good spot, a clean shot, a sheltered point to take aim and cover his team. No, not the explosion. As his foot lost purchase on the crumbling ledge and he tumbled back, clawing at empty air for a handhold, Clint Barton could only think one thing; Why in the world was a normal person like him pretending to be a super hero?

 

He wasn't, he really, really wasn't. He was the odd man out in a group of one-offs. Sure, Stark was normal. Well, normal for a guy with an IQ of 267. Even without the big metal suit and the reactor in his chest he was still a freak of nature. The rest of the team consisted of Norse gods and bio-engineered enhanced super-humans. As he felt the earth rush up toward him he wondered what Banner would think of that assessment. He laughed.

 

He never did remember the impact.

 

When he opened his eyes, his ears were ringing, the blood rushing through his head like the churning of ocean waves and the world swimming around him in distorted images.

 

"Hold on Clint!" the voice sounded far away and he knew he should recognize it. He couldn't focus and he tried not to retch. The level of pain was phenomenal. He'd never been run over by a train but he couldn't imagine how that could be any worse. He pressed his eyes closed, fighting down the nausea as the figure at his side shouted for a medic. Only one person would be stupid enough to yell for back up when he was wearing an earpiece.

 

"Hey, Cap," he murmured, forcing a smile as he opened his eyes to bare slits. Steve Rogers was holding tight to his hand and for some reason he found that funny. "Sorry I left my post."

 

"Don't move," Steve ordered, meeting Clint's gaze with brilliant blue eyes and an unflappable expression. "Just stay calm, help is on the way."

 

"Did we win?" It was all so incredibly amusing, he was probably crushed to smithereens and dying, he really couldn't tell, but that didn't make the whole thing any less funny. If he wasn't struggling to keep from crying out in pain he'd probably be giggling.

 

"I'm pretty sure I have a concussion," Barton declared softly. A bare laugh bubbled through his lips and the shot of pain to his chest was crushing. He shouldn't be laughing, he should be screaming. As he stared up at Captain America swimming over him he wondered if his skull were crushed.

 

"I'll buy that," Rogers nodded, a kind smile on his own lips. "I take it this isn't your first?"

 

"I think this one is seven," Clint mumbled. It was getting harder to make sense of the world, to hear, to think. Definitely a concussion. A bad one. "It might be eight. I'm absolutely sure it's less than ten."

 

"Save your strength," Steve soothed, his strong hands gently stroking Clint's fingers. That was funny too. He wondered if naive innocent Captain America had any notion what sort of ideas people would get from his current behavior.

 

"Whats his... oh god," Phil Coulson skidded over the rubble, his perfectly polished shoes dragging up a light cloud of dust. His face was blank, completely without emotion but his eyes, Clint had seen that expression before and it wasn't good.

 

"I need an evac team, STAT," Coulson barked into his com, kneeling on the broken street at his side. 

 

"Bad huh?" Clint murmured. He could feel a stupid and entirely inappropriate smile on his lips. Coulson smiled back, god the man was the best liar going.

 

"I've seen worse," Phil admitted. 

 

"You've been dead," Clint pointed out. Coulson actually looked taken aback. Speechless  Phil; now that was funny. He almost laughed this time but the motion quickly turned into agony. Instantly Steve's hand was cradling his face, stern worried eyes meeting his. 

 

"Don't you walk out on me soldier, you're not dismissed yet." Steve declared gently.

 

"Yes sir," he whispered. Pain rattled his body and he choked on a cry. He could feel reality slipping from him and he stared up into the face of Captain America struggling to force himself to stay focused. If he closed his eyes now, he'd probably never open them again. He could see Steve hovering over him, trying to keep him awake, Phil in the background signaling down an ambulance. His vision was tunneling. He could hear the medics scrambling over the broken street as his eyes slipped shut.

 

Damn, he was an idiot.

 

The next time he opened his eyes it was like a nightmare, the world wrong and unfocused to such a degree that he couldn't even tell where he was or who was at his side. And the next, and the next, and the next. A haze of pain and drugs and tortured misery. White coats flitted over him in a blur of lights, shouting at each other. He couldn't see, not properly, he couldn't think. He couldn't even hear, not voices, not really, he could hear the words but they didn't make sense. He could hear the rapid staccato of a monitor, and then a flat tone, more rapid beats and tone. Over and over again. Was he dying a thousand times? And wasn't that just hysterical? He didn't know if he was laughing or crying. The world slid in and out of darkness, bright lights burning his eyes, pain crushing him and then blackness and torment suffocating him. He didn't know if it was day and night or life and death or his body slipping in and out of consciousness. All he knew was that it was bad.

 

But he wouldn't think about that.

 

When he finally did awaken properly there was still a warm hand in his and he smiled.

 

"Damn it, Cap," He murmured with a grin. "Tell me you haven't been there the whole time holding my hand like a teenaged girl."

 

"No, we've been taking turns," Steve said with a chuckle, the tips of his ears flushing pink. "How are you feeling?"

 

"Great!" A grin spread across his face. He did feel pretty good, better than he really thought he should. SHIELD medical must have done some first class work on him.

 

"Find out what this stuff is that they're giving me for the pain," Clint added, allowing himself to let out a sigh of relief. "It's some seriously good shit, I'm half numb. I can barely feel a thing." There was a wince, the tiniest spasm in Steve's expression and then it was gone. Clint frowned.

 

"Cap?" Steve pulled back his shoulders in a way that made Clint's stomach clench. He could almost see the reassuring words forming on the other man's lips when the door opened.

 

"Hello lazy," Natasha gave him a sweet, tender smile as she glided elegantly though the door, every hair in place and her appearance perfect in every detail. Whatever Rogers had planned to say Clint had entirely forgotten. "You gave us a scare."

 

"Damn, Nat, you look like hell," he teased, grinning as she brushed a kiss on his forehead. "You should be ashamed for letting yourself go like this." Steve stared at them in confusion. He glanced up as the door opened again and to his surprise Stark had slipped in, hanging back around the doorway and propping the door open with his foot.

 

"Barton," He nodded in greeting, folding his arms over his chest. Clint blinked at him, trying to decide what didn't feel right. It wasn't that he and Tony didn't get along, it was true the man made him crazy sometimes and he did take a bit of fiendish delight in crawling through the tower's wet walls and utility accesses just for the sheer joy of watching Tony Stark's paranoid glances over his shoulder when things weren't where they'd been left. He liked to think there was some mutual respect there too. Stark was putting them all up rent free for god sake, in his own place, no less. 

 

It was true that Stark was still taciturn at times and occasionally dismissive. He'd hole up in his lab for days, emerging to take verbal pot shots at the team and then, just to keep everyone on their toes, take them all out to dinner somewhere repugnantly expensive. Barton had come to the conclusion that Tony was a lot like a five year old kid, incapable of telling you he liked you so he resorted to punching you and then offering to give you a ride home on his bike.

 

 "He's awake?" Clint squinted at the door, a faint smile curling his lips as Bruce leaned around the door with his usual sheepish expression. 

 

"So they tell me, doc" Clint shrugged, giving the other man a friendly smile. He'd been wary of Banner at first but as they'd worked together he'd come to appreciate the scientist's unique situation. Bruce, at his heart was a gentle soul who, in any other circumstance Barton would have felt protective over. It seemed strange to be defensive of someone who could crush a building but there you are.

 

"Everyone's been worried about your head injury," Banner declared, picking up his chart from the foot of the bed and going over it. "This isn't your first concussion."

 

"Not in my line of work," he smiled. "I got hit by a hummer once, that one left a knot on my head you wouldn't believe." Bruce pulled up the stool beside his bed and he felt Natasha's soothing hand gently rubbing his shoulder. Deep inside him something felt wrong but he couldn't place it. The meds must really be doing a number on him.

 

"We need to talk about your injury," Bruce stated softly, biting his lip.

 

"What about it?" Clint asked in confusion. "I mean, the headache's killer but I've had worse. I'm conscious so brain injury can't be that bad, right?" Banner only stared back at him. Natasha's fingers weren't stroking his shoulder any more, they were gripping it and he looked over at Stark who was purposefully staring out the window. That was when he realized, Steve was still holding his hand.

 

"Clint," Bruce met his gaze with unwavering eyes. "Would you move your toes for me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider this chapter my little PSA regarding head injuries. One of the scariest things about cranial trauma is its ability to make you say or do things you normally wouldn't or that might be the exact opposite of what you're actually feeling or thinking. If a friend has been in an accident where they might have a serious head injury please, for their sake, do not assume they are fine because they are laughing and smiling. They might actually be unable to tell you that something is terribly wrong. When in doubt, have them checked by a medical professional.


	2. And Thor Caught Him

"You're improving," Thor's voice was a deep rumble like thunder, a warm smile on his face that reached deep into his eyes. Clint swallowed, readjusting his grip on the bars. It had been three months. Three months and he still couldn't stand on his own.

 

His spinal injury wasn't as bad as it could have been. The doctors had said so, all of them. The SHIELD medical staff, the Stark Industries staff, even the specialists Tony had brought in from god only knew where who prattled back and forth with Natasha in languages he wasn't sure he'd ever even heard before. He still had partial use of his legs, the remaining damage was inoperable. He'd taken what they had given him with his usual attitude; partial was better than nothing. He'd just have to work to walk again.

 

He needed to walk again.

 

It had taken weeks and two failed attempts at escape before SHIELD medical had finally discharged him. Looking back on it now, it was a bit mad to try to sneak out though the air vents. Where was he planning on going when he got outside, really? After the second time Tony had sent Natasha and a car for him along with his personal physician. Fury had been... well, furious. Stark basically ignored the director shouting at him through the phone and Natasha had loaded him in the wheelchair and pushed him out while Tony's doctor had bullied the medical staff. Clint had to give the guy props, but then, dealing with Tony Stark at his worst had to make anyone hard as nails. 

 

He'd come home to warm smiles from Cap, and Bruce and a very severe eye roll from Coulson. Thor had clapped him on the shoulder so hard his teeth rattled, just like always. Tony had been nowhere to be seen but that was just like always as well. He'd overlooked it because there was a brand new, state of the art robotic assist unit in his suite and voice activation added to virtually everything in the tower, even the toaster. It was a bit ludicrous, really but Clint couldn't bring himself to be anything but grateful. For the moment he could pretend he was fine on his own, even if he wasn't really on his own.

 

He'd got up early the first morning and headed straight for the gym. Exercise sessions at SHIELD medical had been strictly regulated and he was convinced it was holding him back. He'd have to work to recover, he couldn't do that on bed rest.

 

Thor had been waiting for him.

 

Three months later and Thor was still there every morning, every evening. Even the middle of the night when Clint was dead sure no one in the tower was still conscious. Like a large labrador with a physical therapy degree the Asgardian was always there. Clint was beginning to think Thor was sleeping in the gym.

 

"Perhaps you should rest," Thor suggested. He was leaning easily against the bars, his arms folded over his chest. He was wearing that stupid Avengers t-shirt again that he'd bought off a street vendor in Union Square. He and Cap had a penchant for wandering out together to explore the city. Clint always thought it was a bad idea. One of them was enough to draw attention. The pair of them together was like a big neon sign that said; Caution, Super Heroes in Crosswalk.

 

"I don't need a break, I'm fine!" Clint answered more sharply than he intended. He winced but it didn't seem to bother Thor in the slightest. 

 

"You're beginning to show signs of fatigue," Thor pointed out without judgement.

 

"I appreciate your help," Clint acquiesced, taking a deep breath and struggling to slide one foot forward. "but I'm fine." Thor didn't answer and Clint didn't look at him. He gripped the bars more tightly, gritting his teeth as he tried to force his left foot to move.

 

"When I was a boy I was mauled by a bilgesnipe," Thor declared finally. "I still bear some of the scars. I can remember my father racing home with me in his arms, my brother frantic and my mother incensed that father had been careless with my safety. For a while I do not think they believed I would make it and I can still remember hearing Loki crying in the next room. Afterward I felt guilty for having worried them so, for setting my brother to tears. I pretended that I felt better than I did, I hid the pain as best I could because I could not bear to think of them so aggrieved again on my account."

 

"Look, buddy," Clint began but Thor cut him off.

 

"A week after I was up and around Loki pounced on me from behind one of the doors as boys are wont to do, thinking I would carry him as I always did," Thor looked away uncomfortably. "My leg buckled and instead I tumbled down the stairs. When I came to myself Loki was at the top of the stairs sobbing himself sick and father was holding me, glaring at him scoldingly. As I think about it now, it might have been the point at which he believed our parents did not care for him as much as for me. Had I owned to the state of my injuries I know he would never have done such a thing."

 

"Nice story," Clint said, giving him a smile. "But I don't think you're going to go dark side on us if I face plant into the floor." Thor let out a chuckle and at that moment Clint felt his hand slip. Panic surged up in his chest as his feet slipped out beneath him, the floor surging up toward him. Thor had his arms wrapped around him before he could even gasp in surprise.

 

"You will rest," Thor declared seriously. "Or I shall call for Natasha."

 

"That is low, buddy," Clint answered with a scowl as Thor easily lifted him, depositing him in his wheelchair.

 

"It is necessary," Thor stated, the slightest smile on his face.

 

"Did Nat put you up to all this?" Clint asked in frustration, running his fingers though his hair. "Keeping an eye on me?" Thor knelt on the floor, sitting down and leaning back against the bench behind him. 

 

"I am here because I choose to be, my friend," Thor replied. "I cannot offer you care or comfort or remarkable tools to help you, but I can give you this. This is my realm as much as any in this world."

 

"You'd kick my ass here anyway so it doesn't matter, right?" Clint asked with a hollow laugh. Thor only nodded, unperturbed by the question. He reached up to clap Clint's shoulder roughly before hauling himself to his feet and grabbing the chair handles.

 

"Come, we will make ourselves presentable to feast with our comrades," Thor declared, pushing him toward the door.

 

"Dude, it's pizza and beer," Clint shook his head, smiling in spite of himself.

 

When Thor left him alone in his suite, (and he'd insisted, he didn't need anyone's help to shower and change he could manage on his own,) he locked the door, pushing himself into the bathroom. For a long time he stared at himself in the mirror. Knots formed in his stomach and he bit his lip, fresh panic welling up inside of him. He wasn't getting better, he wasn't moving better, he wasn't healing, or learning to stand or even learning to adapt. His heart fluttered in his chest like a caged bird and he struggled to breathe, his vision tunneling. 

 

He was on the verge of hyperventilating when there was a knock on his door. 

 

"Do you wish me to return for you?" Thor asked, his booming voice only slightly muffled.  Clint drew in three deep breaths, willing himself not to faint.

 

"I'm fine on my own, Thor!" He called back, wincing at the thin sound of his voice. He could hear chuckling and retreating footsteps and he scrubbed his face with his hands. He couldn't think about this. Hastily he washed up, changing into clean clothes and heading up to the living room.

 

"Pizza's here!" Tony called, from the hall behind him, balancing several delivery boxes. "Help me out here, Katniss." He deposited the pizza boxes in Clint's arms and grasped the wheelchair handles, rolling him swiftly into the living room.

 

"I feel like a shopping cart," Clint snapped irritably.

 

"Never get in between a man and his pizza," Stark advised, taking the boxes from him and shoving several folders to the corner of the desk as he spread out their dinner. "Dear god in heaven, Natasha what is this?" he demanded, staring into one the the containers.

 

"It's caesar salad, Stark," Natasha answered, rolling her eyes as she heaped salad and pizza on her paper plate. "It won't kill you."

 

"So long as I don't eat it," Tony observed. "Tell me, tell me you did not betray my faith in you by forgetting to order hot wings.... again."

 

"You're such a child," she scowled, pointing at one of the containers. Tony pounced on it.

 

"Natasha, did you order wings?" Steve asked, striding into the room as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

 

"And breadsticks, and pasta for Thor," she sighed.

 

"Spaghetti!" Thor declared happily, thundering into the room, toweling off his hair. "truly the food of gods!" 

 

"Knock yourself out, Point Break," Tony declared, handing Thor a box and a fork.

 

"Save me some!" Steve laughed as Bruce snagged the last slice of pepperoni. The alert went off before he could take a bite.

 

"You have got to be kidding me," Tony snapped, staring at the ceiling. Natasha let out a string of expletives in at least three languages. "On pizza night?"

 

"Bad guys have no respect for comfort food," Steve sighed, setting his plate aside. "Everybody suit up!"

 

"I'll fire up the quinjet," Clint nodded, wheeling his chair around and making for the door. It took him only moments to get to the hangar and start the launch sequence, belting himself into the pilot's seat.

 

"Let's go, Clint," Steve declared as Bruce stowed his wheelchair. The others belting themselves in. 

 

"Yes sir," Clint nodded as Iron Man shot out in front of them from the launch balcony. "Everyone hang on." 

 

They were in Queens in what seemed like moments and Clint shot low, easing down in a schoolyard. 

 

"Get clear," Steve ordered, "Be prepared to swing in and pick us up if we get in over our heads." Clint nodded, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hide his irritation.

 

"What in the heck is this thing?" Steve's voice crackled over the com. Clint swung around, swooping past for a better look.

 

"Looks like a giant Jello mold," Banner's voice was a bit bewildered and Clint snorted.

 

"With teeth," he added. A bolt of green energy shot past his wing and he went into a roll. "And laser eyes."

 

"Stay out of range, Hawkeye!" Steve snapped. "If we toast another jet Fury's going to have kittens." 

 

"Nothing I've got is making a dent in this thing," Tony growled. "Thor, what have you got?" A lighting bolt shot out of the sky hitting the creature.

 

"I've got... two now," Thor answered contritely. 

 

"Well that was a good idea," Tony groused.

 

"Hulk smash!" Hulk's declaration was met by Steve's panicked negative and the sound of Natasha swearing. 

 

"Thor, stop him before that thing sucks him up like a lint roller!" Tony shouted. 

 

"I can get a shot," Clint suggested, "I've got a clear run." 

 

"It's too dangerous, Hawkeye," Steve protested.

 

"And there's no proof it'll do anything but make more jello monsters," Natasha added. Clint swung around, gnashing his teeth.

 

"We cannot stand by and do nothing," Thor insisted.

 

"Have you got Hulk contained?"

 

"Thor headed him off," Natasha answered. "I have him, we're hanging back."

 

"If we cut them down small enough maybe we can make a dent in them," Tony suggested. 

 

"Clint, get clear on the east side. Thor hit the one on the left until they're down to size," Steve suggested. Lightening streaked though the sky as Clint pulled the jet out of the line of fire.

 

"We have a situation here!" Natasha shouted into her com.

 

"Cap, the second monster's heading straight for Hulk!" Tony declared, firing at the smaller Jello monsters Thor's lightning was creating.

 

"Clint, can you get them out of there?" Steve demanded, his shield smashing one of the creatures.

 

"I don't have anywhere to land," Clint shook his head. "Nat, can you two make it to the park at the end of the street?"

 

"Umm.... no." He winced. Natasha's calm voice in a situation like this was never good. A laser beam shot out at them and Hulk let out a roar.

 

"I have a shot, I'm going to take it," Clint stated.

 

"Hawkeye, you're going to get hit!" Steve answered in panic.

 

"Look, it's the quinjet or Nat and Bruce," Clint stated, a deathly calm settling over him as his heart began beating its way out of his chest. "Call it, Cap!"

 

"If you get hurt, I'm going to let Natasha kick your ass," Steve growled.

 

"Yes Sir!" Clint swung back around, turing the quinjet to swoop in low over the street. 

 

"You better hurry, Clint!" Natasha's voice was thin, nearly drowned out by the Hulk's roar.

 

Green lasers shot out at him clipping the wing of the quinjet and he was vaguely aware of Steve shouting in his ear. He dodged three more shots, ducking in low and letting off a round of short range mini missiles. 

 

"And there's always room for Jello!" Tony whooped, shooting the smaller monsters. A larger one broke away from the group, shooting lasers at the quinjet and Clint let out a yelp as he lost control of one of the tail rudders. The quinjet went into a lateral spin and Clint struggled to stabilize it over Steven's shouts and Natasha swearing in his ear.  He clipped the corner of a building and he spun wildly, the jet crashing into another building.

 

"Hawkey!" Steve's voice was on the verge of hysterics. "Clint! Come on Barton!" Clint coughed, clawing at the restraints that felt as if they were choking him. Black smoke was filling the quinjet and he squinted, trying to get his bearings. 

 

"I'm ok," he hacked out. He could feel fear settling like a stone in his stomach as the rest of the team were talking at once. He looked out through the cockpit shield, straight down at the pavement three stories below them.

 

"You're on fire, Barton!" Tony bellowed over the chatter on the com.

 

"Yeah I got that part," Clint swallowed, panic seizing him.

 

"Hawk get out!" Hulk bellowed.

 

"I'm working on it, Big Guy," Clint tried not to let his voice falter. He reached for the harness release but stopped. If he pulled the release he'd hit the cockpit shield, The spiderweb if cracks running through it testified to the fact that it wouldn't survive the impact. The building settled and the jet slipped a few feet.

 

"Clint, pull the safety," Steve ordered. "Tony can swing in and pull you out."

 

"I can't." Clint's voice was hardly more than a whisper. "I... I don't have anything to brace against, I'll go through the shield." His head swam as he stared at his shattered console. He could brace his feet against the bottom panel, pull the safety and swing down. Only he couldn't. He couldn't brace his feet, he couldn't move them. He stared down at his boots, swearing under his breath as he tried to force them to move, his heart hammering wildly.

 

"Clint," Natasha's voice wavered slightly. "The flames have almost reached the left engine." 

 

This was it.

 

He could hear Steve shouting at him, Hulk roaring, his ears ringing with it as sheer terror washed over him. Either the quinjet was going to blow with him in it, or he was going to get cut to ribbons and smash into the street. Head first; He probably wasn't going to make it this time.

 

"I'm sorry, Cap," he said, blood thrumming in his ears as he stared down at the ground. He should pull the safety, he should take his chances, he should. But knowing where that chance led last time, he couldn't make himself, he couldn't fall again, couldn't crumple on the ground in a heap. 

 

"Clint!" Natasha shouted at him. He could almost feel the explosion before he heard it and he threw his arms over his face, shielding his eyes. A chunk of the cockpit blew free and he gasped as a bolt of lightening shot from the sky, separating the harness from the seat. He fell only a handful of feet before strong arms caught hold of him.

 

"I have you!" Thor boomed, grasping him around the chest.

 

"Get clear, Fabio!" Tony shouted. Thor shot out of range only seconds before the jet exploded.

 

"You are totally doing the paperwork for that!" Natasha declared angrily, her string of curses nearly drowning out Steve.

 

"Are you guys ok?" Captain America sounded far more winded than he should.

 

"We are both in one piece," Thor nodded, settling on a nearby rooftop. He lowered Barton to the ground gently, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he covered the com with his other hand. "Are you injured in any way?"

 

"I don't think so," Clint answered, gasping. He was surprised at the gentle way the thunder god soothed a hand over his back.

 

"Agent Barton appears to be unharmed," Thor added, relief in his tone. 

 

"We've got the last Jiggler," Tony declared. "Lets get out of here."

 

"Yeah," Clint huffed out between ragged breaths. "I'll be around to pick you guys up in a minute." 

 

"Natasha had Coulson call us in a lift," Bruce's strained voice chuckled. "Guys why am I covered in Jello monster?"

 

"You and Clint had a bad day," Natasha said sourly. "When we get home I'll beat him and tell you all about it." Thor laughed, thumping Clint on the shoulder.

 


	3. And Phil Coulson Wouldn't Meet His Eye

"I'm just saying I'm not comfortable with the situation in Belize," Bruce sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He leaned back in the kitchen chair in a slouch. 

 

"I don't think any of us are comfortable with the situation in Belize," Phil pointed out, leafing through his file folder as he leaned against the bar, half turning his stool to reach his coffee. 

 

"There's no sense in worrying about it," Steve pointed out with a sigh, plating up the last of the pancakes he was making and pushing them in front of Phil. Agent Coulson looked down at the plate with a touched expression and Natasha shot Clint an amused look, the both of them struggling not to giggle. Thor only smirked in amusement, continuing to shovel down pancakes as if he had never been fed before.

 

"I've got stuff to do," Tony declared, draining the dregs of his coffee mug. "Can I get out of here or do I need a note from my mom?"

 

"There's a 'yo mama' joke in there," Bruce insisted seriously. Clint managed to keep a straight face but Natasha had to turn her head to hide her laughter. Bruce's brow knitted in concentration as Tony shot him a cold glare. "No, sorry, I've got nothing."

 

"What is amusing about jokes concerning ones mother?" Thor questioned, his brow furrowing. Steve only shrugged as Clint and Natasha struggled to mask their laughter.

 

"If there's nothing else," Phil prompted, setting his folder aside and digging into his pancakes as Steve grasped up his own plate, leaning lazily against the counter.

 

"Actually, one thing," Clint stated, squaring his shoulders and ignoring Tony's frustrated groan. "I want to request a return to combat duty."

 

The room froze. Steve stood with his fork half way to his mouth, beside him Coulson was staring at his plate as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Across from him Bruce was examining his hands, chewing his tongue silently and Thor had that deep look of concentration on his face that usually heralded either supremely undeniable logic or brave acts of gross stupidity. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Stark tilting his chair back on two legs, staring at the ceiling, his eyes rolled back as he sighed in disgust.

 

Natasha was the first to move, unfurling her long legs and crossing them elegantly as she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. He tried not to think about the fact that it made her look as if she were digging in for a siege. He had a feeling she wasn't bunkering on his side.

 

"It's been six months!" He pleaded in frustration when it was clear no one was going to respond. "I'm going crazy." Phil set his fork on his plate, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

 

"Just what are you proposing, Barton?" he asked, not looking up.

 

"Chair or not, I'm a good shot." Clint argued practically. "The quinjet is rigged out for aerial."

 

"You're going to fly and shoot at the same time?" Natasha demanded with a scowl. Clint tried not to look at her. Definitely not in his camp on this one.

 

"Clint, you don't have anything to prove," Steve declared firmly. "You're still a valuable part of the team."

 

"But I'm not, am I?" Clint ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I'm not a part of the team like this, I'm the pickup man." Steve winced.

 

"If you get into trouble how are you planning to get yourself out?" Bruce asked gently, worry furrowing his brow.

 

"That's rich coming from you, doc," Clint half scolded though there was no malice or anger in his tone. "I'm planning what we're always planning. We watch each other's backs."

 

"We can not always be there," Thor reminded, his expression concerned. Clint gritted his teeth, he'd really been hoping for brave stupidity.

 

"Barton," Phil began, his tone even but his eyes still averted. "I understand your frustration."

 

"No," Clint stated firmly. "no you don't. I'm sorry, sir, but you don't. I'm not dead and I'm not an invalid. I need this." Phil looked up at Steve, the pair of them in some silent attempt to read each other.

 

"Let's give it a couple of weeks and we'll," Steve began finally.

 

"We'll what?" Clint demanded. He'd come this far, he wasn't going to back down. He wasn't going to lose his temper because that wouldn't get him what he wanted but he wasn't going to be placated. "Cap, you've seen me practicing, you know I can do this. I'm every bit as good as I was before."

 

"Do you have a death wish or something?" Stark's tone was on the verge of mocking and Clint turned to look at him properly for the first time. Tony was still staring at the ceiling with an expression that said he suffered fools only because it was illegal to murder them.

 

"Tony!" Steve snapped.

 

"Seriously," The front legs of Stark's chair came to rest on the floor with a snap, his eyes narrowing. "Are we just going to sit here and pretend that someone isn't going to have to watch him every second he's on the ground? Because if we run into trouble it's not that he might need backup, it's that he will need backup."

 

"Stark," Natasha's tone was warning but Tony ignored it.

 

"I'm just saying what everyone here already knows," Tony insisted with a scowl. "He's going to get himself killed or he's going to get one of us killed trying to keep him from getting killed and that's the only way this is going to go down."

 

"Tony!" Steve barked out angrily and Tony shoved his chair back with a clatter, swearing under his breath as he stormed from the kitchen. Steve tossed his plate onto the counter with near violent force before stalking after him.

 

Clint looked up at Phil and Bruce but neither one of them seemed keen to make eye contact while Thor had returned to the consumption of his pancakes as if nothing had happened. When he turned to look at Natasha she was glaring at him. Without a word he pushed back from the table, rolling out into the hall. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to them but he was angry enough now that he didn't care. Keeping his temper in check wasn't going to get him what he wanted at this point anyway.

 

He wheeled around the corner, stopping short.

 

"Tony!" Steve's tone was the angriest Clint could ever remember hearing it and he peered down the corridor from the shadows of the staircase. Stark was a handful of yards ahead, flexing his fingers into fists as Captain America blustered up on him. Clint held his breath, soundlessly he rolled his chair back into the alcove, his body coiled in tension. 

 

"I have work to do, Cap!" Tony snarled, turning on Steve with a truly malevolent glare. "The world's technological problems aren't going to unravel themselves!"

 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Steve demanded, his expression shocked and dismayed. "How could you..."

 

"What do you expect me to do?" Tony shot back. "Hold his hand and sing Kumbayah and tell him everything's going to be all right? I don't _do_ that. And even if I did, it wouldn't do any good."

 

"We're a team, Tony!" Steve insisted. "Does that even register with you? He still needs us, and nothing, _nothing_ lets us off being there for him."

 

"That's great," Tony threw his hands in the air. "Go ahead and make a decision based on emotion and then be surprised when he gets hurt. Because he's going to get hurt. He can't cover his own tail."

 

"Have you even tried for two minutes to think about how he feels?" Steve demanded, and Clint could hear the pained tone in his voice. "He's lost everything, Tony, do you have any idea what that's like, to wake up and find every plan you had for your life, everything that was comfortable and a part of you taken away?"

 

"You know this isn't about you," Tony shot back accusingly. "And it isn't about me either. It's about Barton and the fact that as long as he's in that chair he can never get his old life back. You know what? Neither can you... and neither can I. It happens, Rogers. It's the damn facts of life. Sometimes everything goes to hell and you lose everything. Clint knew that same as you and I." Steve gave him a crushed, hurt look.

 

"If it weren't for that... thing in your chest, I'd wonder if you really did have a heart," he stated miserably. Stark shot him a withering look before turning on his heel.

 

"I haven't got time for this," he stated dismissively. "You've got a man down, Captain. No one likes it, but lying to him isn't going to fix it. If you let him back out into action like he is you're not doing him any favors. He's going to get himself killed. Think about how your team's going to handle that." He spun on his heel as he entered the lift, folding his arms over his chest with a glare as the doors closed on him. Steve stood in the middle of the hall, running his fingers though his hair in frustration. 

 

Clint pushed his chair farther into the back of the alcove, a heavy, miserable feeling settling in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure but Steve looked like he might be on the verge of a breakdown and Clint couldn't help but feel the slightest amount of guilt. In a few minutes Steve drew in a shaky breath, turning down the hall toward the gym. Clint let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His senses pricked and he glanced down the other end of the corridor.

 

"I'll clear you for combat duty if you can get a SHIELD medical release," Phil stated. He was leaning, his back against the wall, staring down at his shoes, a stack of file folders tucked under one arm.

 

"I can't get a medical release," Clint stated, rolling out of the alcove and coming to a stop mere inches from Coulson. "You know that. I can't pass the fitness tests. The only way around that is to get a waiver from Director Fury or from a direct superior. And we both know Fury doesn't give waivers."

 

"Neither do I," Phil said softly without looking up. Clint let slip a curse.

 

"So you're telling me I can go to hell?" he asked. He wanted to feel angry but it was overclouded by desperation.

 

"I'm telling you the rules are there for a reason," Phil answered. 

 

"Great, you're going to take the decision out of Steve's hands?" Clint asked. "To protect him, or to protect me?"

 

"To protect the team," Phil stated flatly.

 

"Sir," Clint felt a wave a nausea wash over him and he swallowed. "Phil?" Coulson didn't move, didn't look up and Clint wanted to call him out on it but he couldn't make himself.

"We're friends," Clint forced out desperately. He hated saying it, hated admitting it. Deep inside it felt like weakness, it always felt that way, letting people get close, close enough to hurt. 

 

"Yes, we are," Phil nodded. 

 

"Then don't hang me out to dry like this," Clint pleaded. "You mark that request for medical release in my file and it's over, it's all over. I might as well be dead then, because I'm never going to see action with that hanging over me."

 

"I can't deploy an agent on the ground when they aren't ambulatory," Phil insisted.

 

"I'm never going to be ambulatory!" Clint felt like shouting but the words choked him. "I can't even stand."

 

"Then you can appreciate my position," Phil stated, turning his head away, gazing off into nothing. Clint gritted his teeth, punching the wall before his spun his chair around, slipping down the hall.

 

"Clint," Coulson began but Barton cut him off.

 

"Save it!" Clint snapped at him. "Stark's not the only one around here with stuff to do!"

 

 


	4. And Natasha Romanov Hit Him

An elbow met with his nose and he stifled a grunt of pain, rolling out of the way as a fist nearly connected with his chest. A foot kicked out and he grabbed it, twisting and sending the attacker into a roll. Clint took advantage of the situation as best he could, using his momentum to land on top of them, his fist missing vital organs my mere fractions. Air wooshed out of his lungs at a sharp jab to his ribs and he tumbled away, spinning on his hip, using the weight of his legs to sweep the feet of his attacker.

 

Natasha hit the ground with a crack, letting out a string of curses he barely understood.

 

"That is not going to work in the field, you idiot," she snapped, punching him in the shoulder with minimal force. "the bad guys don't have a team of semi sentient robots to polish their floors like Stark does!"

 

"I'm taking an advantage when I can get it," Clint shook his head, laying on the gym floor panting. Natasha glared down at him but there was amusement in her eyes.

 

"It wasn't a bad move," she admitted finally. "Realistically I think we need to take this to some place a little less clean and tidy, you need to adapt your technique for real life application."

 

"Great, take away my advantage so I have no hope of beating you," Clint snapped. He winced at his own tone but Natasha seemed not to notice. 

 

"You didn't have any hope of beating me when we were on equal footing, Barton," she leveled at him seriously, sitting up and stretching her legs out in front of her elegantly. Clint glared at her. "You should be able to hold your own against most of the grunts we take on though."

 

"Thanks," he grumbled, staring at the ceiling. 

 

"Do you want me to get your chair?" She offered.

 

"No," he snapped. "I can do it." He rolled up, dragging himself to the edge of the gym floor and grasping the handles, pulling himself up.

 

"You know, it's not that I think you can't," Natasha scowled at him, climbing to her feet and stretching. Clint looked away, the adrenaline leeching off of him.

 

"Yeah, I know," he admitted, grabbing a water bottle. He tossed one to Natasha but didn't meet her eye. There was a long pause, the silence verging on uncomfortable.

 

"I'm worried about you, Clint." She said finally. Barton let out a curse, chucking the water bottle violently at the trash can in the corner before making to move away but Natasha followed. "You can't keep your temper in check, you don't eat, you don't sleep, you've started avoiding the rest of the team."

 

"I don't avoid anyone!" Clint snapped.

 

"You haven't talked to anyone but me in over a week," Natasha countered, her own expression growing frustrated. "You threw Thor out of the gym. Thor. The only person in New York whose asshole quotient is lower than Captain America's and you chucked him out of your workout because he was an 'insufferable pain in the ass'!" 

 

"I never said that!" Clint rounded on her angrily.

 

"JARVIS could you queue the tape, please?" Natasha prompted, looking at the ceiling.

 

"Awww, fu.... JARVIS piss off!" Clint snarled.

 

"Shall I archive this conversation as well, Ms. Romanov?" JARVIS' voice asked placidly.

 

"Please," Natasha answered cooly. Clint let lose a string of profanity that covered just about every language he'd ever been conversational in.

 

"Clint, you have a right to be angry," her tone turned pleading. "I'd think there was something wrong with you if you weren't. But you're taking it out on yourself and everyone around you."

 

"So is it that you can't take it," Clint snapped viciously. "Or because you think I can't?"

 

"Clint."

 

"Because I'm just so delicate like that," he added, draping his hand over his forehead like a shrinking violet as he glared at her.

 

"Stop being a bastard before I have to kick your ass!" She growled warningly. Clint blinked at her a moment in stunned silence and she leaned in closer, grasping the arms of his chair to block his retreat. "And don't think for a moment I won't do it. There isn't even the slightest part of me that feels sorry for you." He stared back at her mutely. Pity wasn't an emotion Natasha had a lot of experience with. He wasn't entirely sure she'd ever felt it at all. Even before his accident he'd been the bottom man in hand to hand on this team, well except for Banner when he wasn't Hulked out, or Tony without his suit. Natasha was the one person out of all the others who would have no problem illustrating that to him.

 

"I'm sorry," he muttered grudgingly.

 

"I don't want your apology," she declared seriously, her lips mere inches from his own. "I want you to deal with your problem." She spun on her heel, striding effortlessly toward the door. Clint watched her go, unease settling in his chest.

 

For the next few days he did avoid everyone. He was bad company, he knew it, so he turned up late to meals and went to the gym when he knew it was most likely to be empty and expended the rest of his time sequestered in his room or the archery range. It was a space that was only ever used by himself and Thor and he knew his words had probably stung the Asgardian enough to make him hesitant to intrude.

 

It wasn't that he was afraid of Natasha. Well, he was, that was just good sense. If you knew Natasha and weren't afraid of her, you were probably irretrievably stupid. It just wasn't the reason. He was more afraid of himself. If he was going to lash out irrationally he'd prefer to be the only available target. The worst he could do to himself was inflict pain. He could deal with pain. He wasn't sure guilt was a challenge he'd be up to equally. He couldn't get a handle on his bitterness or anger, so the only thing left was to hide out and hope it would eventually blow over. He knew it was a stupid solution that probably wouldn't work, but he couldn't think of anything else.

 

That's why when he turned up more than half an hour late for dinner on Thursday night to find the rest of the team only starting to dig into the Chinese takeout, he couldn't quash the immediate surge of irritation.

 

"Grab a plate, Legolas," Tony's voice was light, if not exactly cheerful as he turned over a paper plate and frisbee tossed it into Clint's chest.

 

"JARVIS, can you make a note of this place?" Bruce asked from his spot folded up in one of the chairs like a buddha. "The egg rolls are phenomenal."

 

"Really?" Steve asked, a tinge of excitement in his tone as he made a grab for one.

 

"I was in a little village in Canton once that had the best egg rolls I've ever had in my life," Bruce stated. "These are almost that good."

 

"I've never been to China," Steve offered. "Is it nice?" 

 

"You're not missing anything," Natasha answered, scooping up noodles with her chopsticks.

 

"The people are nice," Phil observed. Bruce nodded in agreement. Clint tried to block out the exchange, biting his tongue. His opinion of China was pretty much ruined by Shenzhen and he had the feeling no one wanted to hear it.

 

"Is Lady Pepper not joining us?" Thor asked with a concerned frown.

 

"She had to head out to DC," Tony said with a shrug, smirking. "Man, you have to stop calling her that, you're setting the bar at an unhealthy level the rest of us can't compete with." His eyes twinkled and Natasha let out a snort of amusement.

 

"I don't get it," Steve admitted. 

 

"Of course you don't, Capcicle," Tony teased, lightly flicking his ear as he passed where Steve had perched on the arm of the sofa. "You're almost as bad as he is."

 

"You guys want to watch a movie tonight?" Bruce suggested.

 

"I don't have any plans," Natasha answered as Phil nodded eagerly around a mouth full of chicken.

 

"You're not picking," Tony insisted, jabbing a chopstick in Phil's direction. Steve let out a groan of assent, wincing. "I've seen enough of those stupid Captain America movies to last a life time. No offense." He turned to Steve with a half apologetic look.

 

"None taken!" Steve answered readily.

 

"It's hard, isn't it?" Bruce questioned candidly. "Looking at it and knowing that's never going to be you again." Clint stiffened, gritting his teeth from his spot in the corner, as removed from the others as he could get without being completely obvious. Steve stared back at the doctor with an unsettled expression as if he'd been caught off guard.

 

"Yeah, of course it is," he admitted finally, a light shrug moving his shoulders. "It's better if I don't dwell on it. But it's not like you don't know that."

 

"Different situation," Bruce insisted, a smile curling his lips. "I can deal with my issues by crawling in my bullet proof lab." He gave Tony a little salute of respect that Iron Man returned with his usual dramatic flair. Clint closed his eyes, his fingers curling into his palms until his nails threatened to break the skin. 

 

"Barton, you up for movie night?" Phil asked genially.

 

"I didn't sleep very well last night," Clint answered. "I'm going to turn in early." He could feel Natasha's eyes on him, naturally she'd seen though the lie, well, half lie. He hadn't slept, that much was true. He just didn't have any plans to turn in.

 

"We'll let you pick," Steve offered coaxingly, a warm, friendly smile on his face.

 

That did it.

 

"Shut the hell up, Rogers," Clint snapped before he could stop himself. The room fell deathly silent and Steve stared back at him owlishly. And in that moment he hated Captain America.

 

"You can just cut the 'team building' crap, Cap," Clint shot out, his temper rising. He rolled across the room until he was nearly nose to nose with Steve. "I'm not stupid, I know what this is and I don't need it. I don't need your pity or your warm fuzzy acceptance or your self righteous nobility and I sure has hell don't need you! I was fine on my own while you were busy being an ice cube and I'm fine now! I don't need movie night and Chinese takeout. I need my damn job back so until you're ready to give it to me you can just fuck off!"

 

"Barton!" Phil snapped but Steve held up his hand, his eyes locked on Hawkeye. He didn't look the least bit wounded by the outburst and if that didn't piss Clint off even more.

 

"Clint, it's not about that," Steve insisted gently. "this isn't charity, it's being worried about a friend. Believe me, I've seen both and this isn't about that. I understand..."

 

"You don't understand shit!" Clint snarled.

 

"Clint."

 

Sparks went off behind his eyes at the kind, gentle tone of voice and he snapped.

 

Clint launched himself from the chair like he'd practiced a thousand times, his fingers fisting in Steve's shirt as he used his momentum to topple them both over the side of the sofa and onto the floor. Steve hit the floor with a grunt and Clint drew his fist back, punching for all he was worth.

 

"You're a condescending bastard!" Clint shouted at him, raining blows on Captain America's face. "You can shove your sympathy up your ass!" He'd expected some sort of defense by now but Steve lay motionless on the floor, pinned down by nothing more than Clint's body weight.

 

"I can do this all day," Steve stated simply, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth.

 

"You're a damn coward too if you won't fight me." Clint bellowed, punching him again. "are you that afraid of being the man who beat up a cripple?" He felt a surge of triumph, he could tell from the look in Steve's eyes, that one stung.

 

The fist connected with his head so hard his ears rang and he tumbled off Steve's chest, rolling across the floor from the impact like a rag doll. Before he could even draw in a breath, a weight settled on his abdomen and a pair of knees dug into his forearms.

 

"He won't fight you, you moron, because he wouldn't fight any of us," Natasha growled down into his face as she straddled him, pinning him to the floor. Her fingers fisted in his hair, pulling sharply and he bit back a yelp. It was as if the pain were grounding him and he stared up at her. "He wouldn't raise a hand against his team, not unless he had no other choice. And that includes you, you ungrateful little shit. Thankfully I don't have anything like his moral compunctions, you do anything like that again and I'll make sure you eat through a straw. Is that in any way unclear to you?" Clint's breath was coming in small gasps as he nodded. Natasha released his hair, dropping his head against the rug with a thunk, and slipping to her feet.

 

"Get off the floor, you big baby," she ground out angrily tossing back her hair as she glared down at him. Clint pushed himself up on his arms as she turned, her hips swaying as she sauntered out the door. Phil followed after her, cringing slightly. Clint glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Bruce gently push past Thor who had been shielding him from the fight. The doctor crept across the room on hesitant feet, kneeling beside Steve who was sitting with his legs folded and looking winded.

 

"Let me take a look at that," Bruce offered.

 

"It's ok," Steve shook his head, wiping his split lip on his arm. "I've had worse." It wasn't lost on Clint that Rogers' eyes looked misty.

 

"Let Bruce clean you up," Tony insisted, his hand settling lightly on Cap's shoulder. Steve hesitated a moment before nodding and Thor stepped to his side, hauling him to his feet as Bruce steered him out of the rec room. Tony took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before shaking his head. Without a word he grasped hold of the wheelchair, rolling it to Clint's side and locking the wheels before turning and walking away, his steps retreating down the hall. Clint drew in several shaking breaths, staring at his unresponsive legs. Minutes ticked by as he struggled to hold in his emotions.

 

"Agent Barton, shall I call Doctor Banner or Thor to assist you?" JARVIS' voice seemed to eco in the now vacant room. Clint's breath hitched. Leave it to the AI to ascertain which of his team members were likely least pissed off at him at the moment.

 

"It's ok, JARVIS, I'm just catching my breath," he answered in a small voice. He could still feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his eyes had begun to water.

 

"JARVIS, What's Cap's condition?" he asked, stifling a sniffle.

 

"He has a developing hematoma over his left eye," JARVIS answered, his tone clinical. "minor lacerations, a slight dislocation of the temporomandibular joint, and a mild nasal fracture. Considering his exemplary healing ability he should make a full recovery in less than two days." 

 

"Thanks, JARVIS," he murmured, choking back a sob. 

 

"Do you require any other assistance, Agent Barton?" The AI's tone was worried. There was the straw that broke the camel's back. 

 

"No," he shook his head as a single tear trickled down his cheek, his voice thin. "but thanks for asking." 

 


	5. And Bruce Banner Gripped His Arm

Clint stared at the wall of the supply cupboard. It was something of an erroneous description. He'd had an apartment in Minneapolis once that was almost as big as this closet. The neatly stocked and labeled shelves stretched down through the half darkness of the security lights to the unmarked door, the faintest band of light leaking in beneath it to wash the concrete floor. He took a long pull from his bottle of Jim Beam. It was morning now, he'd been in here for about three days.

 

Not three days solid, mind you. He wasn't that stupid. He'd been very careful to appear on the security cameras and scans just enough so that JARVIS would be able to confirm his state of health should anyone ask. No one would need to ask, though. The AI was smart enough to alert the others before problems got out of hand. So he raided the kitchen in the middle of the night, made coffee at 5 am when only Tony was conscious and in his lab, hit the gym the moment Steve and Thor headed for the showers. 

 

He couldn't avoid Natasha, that was impossible, but she really wasn't that talkative. She'd frown at him, asked him if he'd eaten, if he'd slept, if he were drunk, but apart from that she said little and lingered near him even less. Her frustration with him hadn't eased and wasn't likely to any time soon. That wouldn't keep her from checking up on him. In a way it was like a layer of security. She'd seen him today so the others would have less reason to seek him out.

 

He took another pull from the bottle, leaning back against the wall. He wasn't sure how much longer he could reasonably stay in here.

 

"Isn't it a little early for that?" Clint started at the familiar voice, looking up into Bruce Banner's face. He hadn't even heard the door open. Bruce held out a coffee mug with a gentle smile. "Milk, no sugar." 

 

"Thanks," Clint nodded, taking the mug as Bruce slid down the opposite wall to sit on the floor facing him with his own mug. 

 

"Coulson didn't file an incident report," Banner offered up conversationally. Clint stared at him in surprise a moment. "I know Natasha didn't tell you. She's still pretty mad at you."

 

"Coulson's never failed to file a report in his life," Clint declared disbelievingly.

 

"Well, it wasn't exactly his call," Bruce shrugged, sipping his coffee. "Cap told Coulson a minor flesh wound like that wasn't worth his team."

 

"But you know it wasn't minor," Barton observed. Bruce said nothing and Clint sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

 

"I expect he let it go because it was Steve," Bruce shrugged. Clint shook his head miserably. Saved by a bro-crush.

 

"What did they tell Fury?" he asked warily.

 

"Sparring accident," Bruce replied. Clint hissed out a curse.

 

"And he bought that?"

 

"The man isn't stupid, Barton." Banner pointed out. Of course Fury hadn't bought it, but when Steve Rogers stands in front of your desk and lies to you, what do you do?

 

"So everybody's gay for Captain America?" he asked in irritation. He'd almost have rather been reprimanded.

 

"More or less," Bruce agreed in amusement.

 

"Thor took the fall, didn't he?" Clint asked, swearing under his breath as Bruce nodded.

 

"They were both more scared that Fury was going to call shenanigans than anything else if that helps at all," Bruce said with a faint smile.

 

"Yeah, that kind of just makes it worse," Clint admitted, rubbing his face with his hands. "Is that why you came in here; To try and make me feel better so I'd come out?"

 

"No," Bruce answered, his expression nearly cloying. "I came in here because I needed a radiopharmaceutical for an experiment last night and you won't get the hell out of my supply closet so I can work in peace." He chuckled as Clint flushed lightly in embarrassment.

 

"It's the only place in the tower where the scanning equipment doesn't work," Clint confessed.

 

"Yes, I know," Bruce nodded. "Radiation does that. Look, I'm not going to tell you not to hide, I don't have that right... I really don't have that right."

 

"I'm not hiding," Clint lied.

 

"You're sitting on the floor of my cupboard behind my chemistry set with a nearly empty fifth of bourbon," Bruce observed. "Just what is that supposed to be? How did you get in here anyway?"

 

Clint pointed at the air vent on the wall near the floor before looking at his whisky bottle. With a sigh he upended it in his coffee. Bruce shook his head.

 

"From your suite?" Bruce asked curiously. Clint nodded. The doctor chuckled, staring at the vent in wonder. "I'm not going to tell you to get out, and I'm not going to tell the others where you are. I'm not that much of a hypocrite, I've made a career out of running from my problems. It's just... it's ok to stop running. When you're ready, it's ok." 

 

"You're saying they're not pissed at me?" Clint asked skeptically.

 

"Hell no," Bruce shook his head. "but you're allowed to be pissed at someone and worried about them at the same time." Clint had to concede the truth in that. 

 

"Does it work; running?" Clint asked.

 

"Yeah it works ok," Banner nodded. "It doesn't help, but it works." There was a loaded answer for you. Clint stared at the man across from him, so easy going and unassuming. A part of him could almost understand that answer. Of course a part of him could also see the monster just below the surface.

 

"How do you do it?" Clint asked before he could stop himself.

 

"Not running, you mean?" Bruce countered. Clint nodded. Bruce sighed. "It's easier to run. As long as you keep moving you don't have to live with it, just crush it down and pretend it isn't there. When it comes out you bolt before you have to face the consequences. But you can't control it and run at the same time, so you have to choose one or the other. That's why I hated the running. I wanted control but I couldn't stay in one place long enough to keep it. I didn't have a choice."

 

"Thanks for making me feel like an asshat," Clint glared at him.

 

"Hey, what are friends for!" Bruce grinned cheekily, clambering to his feet. "You want a refill?" Clint shook his head, draining his coffee cup. Bruce pulled one of the boxes off the shelf, making his way to the door.

 

"Give me a shout if you need anything," He called over his shoulder. Clint didn't answer. He stared at the wall a few minutes longer before pulling the vent cover free. He actually liked crawling through the ductwork. It was easy for a while to pretend that everything was fine, he wouldn't be able to use his legs much in the tight space anyway, and it was a good workout. Sometimes he wished he could just stay there.

 

"JARVIS, where's Cap and Coulson?" he asked as he settled back in his wheelchair in his room.

 

"They are in the kitchen, Agent Barton." JARVIS answered. "I believe they're engaged in the manufacture of waffles."

 

"Yeah, that sounds like them," Clint nodded. "Is anyone besides Banner awake yet?" 

 

"Sir is in his lab, Ms. Romanov and Thor are in their respective suites," JARVIS replied. Clint nodded, making his way out the door and down the hall.

 

We're going to set fire to the kitchen," Steve shook his head, staring warily at the smoking waffle iron.

 

"Stark's insured," Phil shrugged, his impassive expression belied by the glee filled twinkle in his eye, though related to breakfast or bonding with his childhood hero, Clint couldn't say. The timer went off and Steve flipped the iron open, muttering under his breath as he pried the waffle free with a fork.

 

"Looks dangerous, do you need me to call in support?" Clint offered hesitantly. Steve and Phil both turned slowly to stare at him, dumbstruck expressions on their faces. He looked away nervously.

 

"Fire rescue, maybe?" Steve looked downright nervous at his own joke and a wave of guilt swelled in Clint's chest. All signs of their fight had disappeared apart from the faintest traces of bruising around his eye. Clint found it hard to look at him.

 

"I need to put in a request for medical leave," Clint declared, staring at the floor.

 

"I'm not filing an incident report," Phil declared firmly.

 

"Bruce told me," Clint nodded, still not looking up. Steve set his fork on the counter, crossing to the table and pulling out a chair, straddling it so that he was eye level with Clint.

 

"You're having a rough time," Steve said gently. "We all get that. I know this isn't what you're used to, but I honestly don't know how to be a team without being family too. So it's all right."

 

"This isn't about that," Clint lied. He caught Coulson's expression. Phil would know better, would know that it was about the fact that if no one else would punish him, he'd find a way to punish himself. What could possibly be worse than having nothing? "I'm compromised. I proved that the other night." 

 

"You're under a lot of strain and you lost your temper," Steve shook his head. "No harm done."

 

"I need some time to myself," Clint insisted "Just to get a break from things and try to deal with the stress. I got off my scheduled medical leave three weeks early. I'd like to take it now. Catch up on sleep, read a book or something."

 

"What do you want us to tell Fury?" Steve asked. Deep down Clint had rather hoped Steve would call him on it, berate him, do something not... try to be supportive.

 

"Relapse?" Phil suggested. Clint nodded.

 

"Ok," Steve agreed. "But you don't have to take the whole three weeks if you don't need it. Just get some rest and take care of yourself. Your place is here when you're ready. No pressure." Clint nodded again hesitantly.

 

"If you need anything, ask someone," Steve pleaded. Clint met his gaze properly for the first time in three days, his stomach churning painfully.

 

"I just need to get my head on straight," Clint insisted. "I'll be fine." Steve nodded in acceptance and Clint turned his wheelchair out into the hall. He stopped a handful of yards from the door, drawing in a shaky breath.

 

"You going to be ok?" Banner's voice made him jump, he hadn't even been aware that anyone was standing in front of the elevator.

 

"I don't know," Clint shrugged. Bruce sighed, heading toward the kitchen and the smell of waffles. His hand came to rest on Clint's arm and he paused.

 

"Stay the hell out of my cupboard," he smiled, his tone warm and friendly.

 

"Yeah, ok," Clint agreed. Bruce gave his arm a squeeze before moving on.

 

So Clint stayed out of Banner's supply closet. He stayed out of the rec room and the gym and the kitchen most of the time too. Natasha texted him, asking if he needed anything but when he insisted he needed time to himself she didn't come to his room. When he didn't show up for meals the second day, plates started appearing by his door on butler's trays. He had no idea who was leaving them but it didn't matter. He picked at the food, he just wasn't hungry. On the fifth day Steve came to check on him, just to make sure he was all right. He didn't come in, hovering instead by the door as if waiting for permission Clint hadn't granted. Clint found he couldn't. He never had before, they were all in and out of each other's suites like college kids and it felt wrong to ask Steve to come in and sit down when a month ago he would have shuffled into the room and collapsed on the sofa as if he belonged there. It all felt wrong, but that was all he felt; wrong.

 

On the sixth day the alert went off and Clint stayed in his room. As soon as he heard the jet take off he climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. Twilight was gathering when he finally heard Iron Man's boots hitting the launch balcony. He didn't get up to see if everyone was all right.

 

On the eighth day Coulson stopped in. He didn't wait for an invite. He laid a debriefing folder on Clint's coffee table with the suggestion that he might want to see it. Clint didn't open it. Phil wasn't agitated and he didn't look worn. If anyone had been hurt he'd have at least looked annoyed.

 

On the tenth day he started drinking.

 

Technically he'd been drinking since the incident with Rogers. Drinking had never been a problem. Natasha had always called him a "girly drunk" implying that all he did was flirt and giggle. He didn't remember it that way but considering the amount of alcohol it took to get her buzzed she probably had a better bead on the situation than he did. Or maybe she was having him on. She could be like that.

 

Polishing off one of Tony's old, nearly empty bottles of overpriced scotch over a couple of days wasn't worrying, not to Tony at least who knew a drinking problem when he saw one. On day ten he broke into the basement wine cellar and got the cases out of the back of storage. Jarvis didn't run the lower floors of the tower, it was stocked by the Stark Industries support staff that ran the street level offices. They'd see the missing bottles and reorder thinking Tony had thrown a party. It took him half the night to drag five cases of hard liquor from the basement to his suite. By day twelve he was in a tailspin and Johnnie Walker was his copilot.

 

And that was how he ended up on the roof on day thirteen completely shitfaced.

 

If he'd been remotely sober he'd have had the good sense to leave his bow in his room. Of course if he'd been remotely sober he wouldn't have had the brilliant idea to line empty booze bottles up on the ledge and get in some target practice in the first place. He could have got the same level of amusement out of the Nerf bow Tony'd had specially designed for him after he'd bought Hasbro. Stark had called it his Christmas present to himself. It had been a good Christmas.

 

"Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see," Clint sang drunkenly as he pulled back his bow. He released the arrow and it nicked one of the bottles, causing it to rattle down the retaining wall. "I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low."

 

"Yeah, you're a little high," Bruce's familiar voice made him grin and he looked over his shoulder as he released the bow again. This time it found its mark and the bottle pitched over the wall. A few seconds later it crashed and the sounds of swearing met their ears.

 

"Sorry Tony!" Clint shouted, turning back to Banner. "I'm a little low too. You want some?" he held out his bottle to Bruce.

 

"It doesn't agree with me," Bruce admitted. Clint shrugged, taking a long pull, emptying the bottle and chucking it at the row on the ledge. The next crash was followed by more swearing.

 

"Your loss, Jolly Green," Clint declared.

 

"Clint you need to put the bow down," Bruce said softly. "Before someone gets hurt."

 

"Someone already got hurt, didn't they?" Clint demanded, reaching for another arrow. His fingers grasped at air and he looked confused.

 

"Put the bow down, please," Bruce requested again.

 

"What are you doing up here anyway?" Clint asked, looking at him blearily.

 

"You woke up everyone when glass started shattering on the balcony," Bruce answered.

 

"Yeah but why _you_?" Clint rolled his eyes. "Aren't there enough anger management issues up here already?"

 

"I'm the only one who didn't want to taze you," Bruce admitted. Clint let out a snort of laughter.

 

"Pissed off all my friends, huh?" Clint observed, he tossed the bow aside, still unable to find his arrows and rolled closer to the ledge. "Bite me!" he shouted, giving a hollow laugh as Tony let out a string of profane insults.

 

"I'll take you down to your room and you can sleep it off," Bruce offered.

 

"Why?" Clint snapped. "It's not like things are going to be better when I wake up sober."

 

"I'll settle for things not being any worse," Bruce winced. "Come on down stairs, I'll have Steve get you knish and we'll braid our hair and paint nails and watch the Princess Bride."

 

"That is kind of tempting," Clint admitted. He picked up two of the bottles testing their weight as he held them each firmly by the neck. He tossed them back and forth a few times before throwing one of them high in the air and grasping the other in both hands like a baseball bat. 

 

"And Barton gets a double!" He shouted as the bottles connected. The bottle smashed against the retaining wall and he grasped up another, throwing it into the air and taking a swing at it as well. This one pitched over the roof to shatter on the balcony below. Bruce rubbed his face in frustration.

 

"Clint, you're going to hit some poor shmuck on Park Avenue in the head," Bruce stated seriously. Clint ignored him, hitting another bottle. He let out a curse as his bat shattered.

 

"Come on," Bruce gripped his arm gently, tugging him back from the edge, the wheels of his char crunching in the gravel of the roof "Let's just go inside. I'll make you a margarita or something."

 

"It's over, you know," Clint observed, shrugging him off, He pushed himself away from the row of bottles and broken glass and leaned on the ledge gazing down at the bustle of New York on the street below them.

 

"What is?" Bruce asked, joining him hesitantly. 

 

"Everything," Clint admitted. "Agent Clint Barton, Hawkeye, the Avengers."

 

"Clint," Bruce gave him a pained look.

 

"Well the Avengers aren't over," Clint slurred. "just my chapter. I knew it was going to be like this when we started, we were bound to lose people eventually. I just kind of thought I'd be standing beside a hole in the ground. I didn't plan for this... I didn't plan for me."

 

"It doesn't have to be," Bruce said softly. "You need to just back off of this and sober up."

 

"And sit behind a desk?" Clint muttered, leaning a little further forward so that his upper body was resting on the ledge. "Just lay down and play dead."

 

"You're starting to scare me a little, Barton," Bruce admitted.

 

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Clint asked, "you scared. I should be scared of you scared, shouldn't I? I've worked with the big guy enough that I'm not scared of him any more, Banner. I've kind of got a soft spot for him actually."

 

"Clint, you're too close to the edge," Bruce stated, his voice strained.

 

"You know why I signed on with SHIELD in the first place?" Clint asked, a nostalgic smile playing across his face. "I'm not the poster boy, obviously. I'd just spent so much of my life with nothing, no family, no future, no reason for getting up in the morning. I swore to myself I was never going to do that again."

 

"I know what it's like to feel like you have no way out," Bruce whispered harshly, his fingers fisting in Clint's sleeve. 

 

"You don't," Clint choked.

 

"I put a bullet in my head!" Bruce barked, then cringed as if he couldn't believe he'd actually said the words. Barton stared back at him with wide surprised eyes. "Clint, I _know_ , and I'm not going to let you do this!" Clint let his head hang over New York, staring down at the city before looking over his shoulder with a sappy, disarming sort of smile that brought Bruce up short. 

 

It was all the distraction Clint needed.

 

Barton rotated his arm up, twisting out of Banner's grasp and using the force of the shove to roll out of his chair and onto the wall. Banner stumbled back, letting out a terrified shout as Clint gave him one last tearstained smile and smoothly tumbled over the ledge. Clint thought he heard Natasha scream, the sound of Tony swearing like a sailor, Steve shouting, everything slowing to a crawl as he tumbled off the roof. It was like flying and for a moment it didn't matter that his legs were useless. The adrenaline hit his system like a freight train, burning away the alcohol induced haze and he let out a laugh as he took in New York below them. Banner was right, he was going to land on someone down there.

 

He let out a yelp as a vice like grip latched onto his wrist and he hit the side of the tower with a sickening crunch.

 

"Clint, give me your other hand!" Banner's voice was reasonably calm but his wide eyes, tinged with green were a certain sign panic was setting in. Clint stared up at him as he dangled over Park Avenue. Suddenly he felt completely sober.

 

"I don't think I can," he confessed, stretching to reach Banner's fingertips.

 

"Clint, I can't hold you," Bruce stated desperately. "Now give me your other hand and pull yourself up."

 

"I need momentum," Clint's voice was so calm it was almost glacial. They stared at each other knowing the significance of the statement. Clint couldn't swing his legs enough to clear the last few inches he needed.

 

"You listen to me," Bruce's fingers dug into his wrist. "I can't change. If I do I could crush your arm in the middle of the transformation. You have to help me, Clint."

 

Barton stared into his eyes breathlessly to find a hint of tears there and that protective instinct surged forward. Even at his worst, Clint had Natasha and Phil, he had friends at SHIELD that he could fall back on. Hell, he even had outside contacts who would jump at a chance to give him a fresh start.. The only thing Banner had left in the world was in this tower.

 

"Bruce," Clint wasn't sure what to say. Thank you hardly covered it.

 

"Damn it, don't you dare make me live with this," Bruce pleaded. Clint could feel the street beneath them without seeing it, the rush of wind in his hair beckoning him to fly. He still wanted to fall, but he didn't want to do this to Bruce.

 

"Doc, you listen to me," he met Banner's eye unwaveringly. "You do what you have to do, buddy, and whatever happens... whatever happens it's on me. It isn't your fault. You remember that. This isn't your fault." There was a green cast to Bruce's face and Clint wasn't entirely sure it was Hulk. He looked as if he were going to be sick.

 

Clint closed his eyes turning his head toward the street below. If nothing else he wasn't going to burn his expression in Bruce's memory. The man had enough problems. He heard the groan and the rip of fabric first before he felt the hand on his arm begin to grow, meaty fingers clenching around his wrist painfully as a roar rumbled up from the Hulk's chest. Banner was right, the reflex of the transformation was going to crush his arm.

 

He let out a cry as he was flung into the air, the half altered hand falling away as he was heaved skyward. He scrambled in shock a moment, his eyes snapping open as he splayed out over New York and then he was falling again, rushing toward Park Avenue like a bullet from a gun. 

 

A force like a brick wall collided with him, knocking the wind from his body and he felt a massive arm tighten around him, gripping him tight to a broad green chest. Hulk's free hand reached out and he grasped the ledge where Clint had dangled only a moment before, the pair of them colliding with the wall of Avengers tower with the sharp whine of cracking safety glass.

 

"Got you," Hulk huffed, his eyes narrowing angrily. Clint's head was spinning, either from alcohol or the lack of air he couldn't be sure.

 

"Yeah you do, Big Fella," Clint murmured, his vision tunneling. "good job."

 

He blacked out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint wasn't present on the Helicarrier when Loki is messing with everyone's heads and Bruce talks about his attempted suicide. So I went with the assumption what it wasn't something he would have normally brought up, and that the others were too polite to ever mention it again. That would make this the first time Barton had ever heard about it.


	6. And Tony Stark Smiled at Him

 "Somebody tell me how the hell this even happens!" Tony's voice floated through the open door, breathtakingly angry even by the billionaire's standards. "And why are there five empty cases of Blue Label in his suite that none of us know about?"

 

Clint blinked the fuzz out of his vision, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Based on the light filtering in through his window it was very early morning. His arm ached a little and he flexed his fingers, staring at the ugly bruise on his wrist. That could have been a lot worse. He could hear shuffling out in his sitting room and he could just catch a glimpse of Steve and Bruce through the open double doors. They both looked tired as if they'd been up all night.

 

"Apparently he snuck into your wine cellar a couple of days ago and cleaned you out," Natasha sighed in exasperation. "The security log shows your code on the lock."

 

"Jes..." Tony let out a string of expletives that made Steve blush slightly. "JARVIS! inform administration that from now on there needs to be two codes to get into the wine cellar. No one gets in there by themselves, not even me... And issue a code to Cap. He's the only one I can rely on around here not to go on a bender."

 

"Right away, sir," JARVIS intoned.

 

"I'll try not to take that personally," Bruce stated softly, folding his arms protectively over his chest.

 

"No offense, Big Guy," Tony's manic tirade eased and he reached out to knead the back of Bruce's neck. "Are you ok?"

 

"You look a little... green," Steve gave him an apologetic look but Bruce only chuckled.

 

"I'm just rattled," Bruce shook his head. "Everything's ok now." 

 

"You did good," Steve praised with a heartfelt smile. 

 

"So what kind of lie are we going to make up to cover this?" Natasha asked. Steve winced and Clint could pick up the worry in her tone.

 

"Could you put a bruise like that on him?" Tony asked Steve. Captain America shook his head.

 

"Thor's probably the only other one who could," Natasha admitted. 

 

"We're not asking him," Steve protested. "He took it last time, and he was out with Jane in SoHo all last night."

 

"Yeah they haven't even surfaced yet," Bruce shook his head. "I'm sure not going to be the one to wake them."

 

"You don't have to," It was Thor's voice coming from the doorway sounding concerned. "JARVIS informed me of your unfortunate evening."

 

"That's a word for it," Tony sighed. "We could say lab accident."

 

"It looks like finger marks," Bruce pointed out resignedly. "Big, mutant, monster fingers. It's going to have to be me."

 

"It can't be you and you know why," Steve insisted. "We're just going to have to think of something."

 

"Think fast," Natasha advised. "Coulson's going to be here soon so we need to hide the scotch and get our story straight."

 

"Perhaps we can cover it up until he heals," Thor suggested. "or at least until we can plan something more convincing."

 

"Tell him the truth," Clint said, gulping slightly. The others fell silent and he drew in an unsteady breath. Damn, he sure had a knack for causing disaster.

 

"How's the hangover?" Steve asked softly as the others followed him into the bedroom.

 

"Kind of like my head's exploding," Clint admitted. 

 

"Serves you right," Natasha declared, her tone without venom. Clint smiled at her, none of the others could probably see it but he knew. She wasn't angry any more, she was too busy trying not to appear upset.

 

"I thought I told you to ask if you needed anything," Steve chided, settling on the edge of the bed as Clint forced himself to sit up.

 

"Yeah, I know," Clint answered thickly. "god, Bruce, I'm so sorry."

 

"It's ok," Banner still looked shaken but he smiled shyly. "Next time I'm letting them taze you though." Clint let out a half laugh as Thor winced painfully. 

 

"I really screwed everything up," Clint observed, rubbing his face with his hands. 

 

"We're going to sort this out and fix it," Steve promised.

 

"I would rather take responsibility for this myself than see you come to harm over it," Thor added.

 

"I can't let you guys cover for me again," Clint shook his head. "You need to tell Coulson the truth when he comes in."

 

"Fury'll take you off the team, Clint," Steve reminded.

 

"I've been off the team for a while now," Clint admitted miserably. "I just didn't want to admit it to myself and you guys were too good to me to say it. You're... better than family. That's why I can't keep doing this to you. Tell Coulson what happened. Let him make the call." They all looked at each other with uneasy expressions and Clint felt a lump in his throat as he realized they didn't want to lose him any more than he wanted to be lost. He blinked rapidly, drawing in a shaky breath. This was for the best, he was going to protect them the way they'd been protecting him from the moment he'd hit the pavement.

 

"Listen, can you guys give Bruce and I a minute here?" Tony asked finally. Steve turned to look at him in surprise. Whatever question his eyes were asking, Tony only nodded. Steve seemed taken aback but Natasha and Thor only looked confused.

 

"Sure, Tony," Steve nodded. "We'll clean up the living room and then try to get Phil enough breakfast to put him in a good mood." Thor nodded in agreement and the three of them slipped out the doors, Steve closing them securely behind them.

 

"Tony, I..." Clint began but Stark cut him off.

 

"I've got a little pet project going that I want you to take a look at," Tony stated, pulling a chair up to the bed and settling in it as he handed a tablet to Clint. A human outline came to life on the screen and Clint recognized the Iron Man development interface.

 

"This isn't the Mark XLIII," Clint stated, unsure of what he was actually seeing. "It's... tiny. I mean really." He stared at it in confusion. It was much too small to be a weapon of any kind, it didn't even seem viable as a shielding device.

 

"No, it's not Iron Man," Tony shook his head, a soft smile curling his lips. "It exists because of Iron Man."

 

"It's a highly experimental microscopic sub-dermal neural interface," Bruce supplied to his unvoiced question. "It's built on the Iron Man control architecture."

 

"Sub-dermal... Oh my god," tears burned his eyes as he stared at the now blurring screen. "Tony do you actually think you can make this work?" It was a stupid question to ask, he knew, because if Tony wasn't sure, one hundred percent sure, the project would be so far buried in the lab no one would even know it existed.

 

"It works fine," Tony assured. "I mean I knew it was going to, but just to be safe I let a vet friend of Pepper's try it on her paraplegic dog. Little mongrel jumped all over me when I went to see the results." 

 

"Oh my god," Clint's chest tightened and his vision tunneled. He slumped forward, his head resting on his knees as he hyperventilated. Tony let out a laugh, rubbing his back.

 

"Spinal surgery has risks, Clint," Bruce reminded gently. "very high risks, if this goes horribly wrong..."

 

"I'll be dead," Clint nodded, sitting up slowly despite his ragged breathing. "but if it goes right I'll be.... me again?"

 

"Maybe a little bit better than you," Tony said, holding his fingers a hairs breadth apart. "That dog could outstrip all the other mutts in the clinic for speed. You should have seen how giddy the vet was."

 

"This is what the two of you have been doing in the lab for the last eight months," Clint stated, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

 

"More Tony than me," Bruce admitted. "I helped with some of the biological components but most of it is him. I'm just here because his ego is out of hand and I wanted you to know he isn't off his rails on this."

 

"Thanks a lot, Shrek!" Tony shot back.

 

"When can we do this?" Clint demanded.

 

"Clint, you need to be completely sure," Bruce prompted.

 

"When?" Clint repeated desperately.

 

"I'll go arrange everything," Tony promised. "Right after I go down and tell Coulson... and beg him not to evaluate your fitness until you're back on your feet."

 

"You begging," Bruce smirked. "This I've got to see." Tony shot him a glare.

 

"You are not off this team, Clint," Tony assured, turning back to him. "Not now, not ever."

 

"Sleep it off and we'll sit down tonight and go over everything," Bruce declared. Clint nodded, easing down into the pillows as Tony stood, the pair of them slipping out the door. He could hear a moment's rattling around in his living room and then silence. Once he was absolutely sure he was alone he let the tears fall, hugging the tablet to his chest.

 

It wasn't easy, and it wasn't necessarily pretty and like most things it didn't go exactly perfectly either. But Coulson failed to file an incident report for the second time in his life and Tony constructed the worlds smallest neural interface. And in less than two months Barton was in recuperative therapy at SHIELD medical and life in the tower was as normal as could be expected for grown adults who spend most of their time blowing themselves up and falling out of the sky. It wasn't all good, but it wasn't all bad either. 

 

"Pizza's here!" Steve shouted up the stairs, delivery boxes balanced in his arms. Thor stepped off the elevator, clad in sweats and a too tight t-shirt.

 

"Let me help you," he offered taking half the boxes as they made their way to the rec room, spreading the food out on the table.

 

"We're running low on root beer, JARVIS," Natasha stated as she emerged from the kitchen with an armload of beer and soda. 

 

"I shall address the situation immediately, Ms. Romanov," the AI answered.

 

"Steve that's a lot of food," Bruce observed in amusement as he trudged down the landing, ruffling his hair tiredly. "I think you got carried away."

 

"Phil called and said he'd be here," Steve shrugged. the room stilled rather abruptly.

 

"Coulson's coming all the way here from SHIELD?" Tony asked from where he stood in the doorway, unease rolling off of him in waves. "Why?"

 

"He said he had something to tell us," Steve admitted hesitantly. Tony's face paled, with stilted steps he crossed the rec room, collapsing on the sofa.

 

"Tony he didn't say it was bad news," Steve declared gently.

 

"He's bringing Barton's evaluation," Tony stated as if it were a matter of fact.

 

"We can't be sure of that," Natasha pointed out. 

 

"We all knew the physical therapy was going to be rough," Bruce insisted. "That's why Clint asked us not to be there. He knew we'd take every setback personally, especially you Tony."

 

"Did you look at his charts?" Natasha asked with a furrowed brow.

 

"No I didn't," Bruce answered. "He asked me not to before he went under. The surgery went as expected, there's no reason to believe he won't eventually make a full recovery."

 

"It would be unfair of SHIELD to evaluate him while he is recovering," Thor stated as if the matter were settled. Tony gave a derisive snort. Fairness wasn't one of his expectations in life. 

 

"It doesn't matter if it is his evaluation," Steve reminded emphatically. "He has another month of physical therapy. When that's over we'll all insist that he be reviewed again. Fury is not taking him off the team." The others nodded in agreement but Tony only blew out the breath he'd been holding.

 

"You guys save me some?" Coulson asked cheerfully as he appeared on the landing.

 

"Sure, grab a plate, Phil," Steve offered, grinning. "You up for movie night tonight?"

 

"I could go along with that," Phil nodded, grabbing a slice of pizza.

 

"So what brings you to our domicile of chaos?" Natasha asked with a smile.

 

"Actually I brought you something," Phil admitted. Tony let out a choking noise and Phil frowned in concern. 

 

"Oh yeah?" Bruce asked conversationally. "Wa..." his voice trailed off and the others followed his gaze to the door.

 

"Hey guys," Clint Barton stood, leaning on the door frame, his arms folded over his chest, the faintest smile curling his lips. 

 

Natasha rambled out something unintelligible in Russian and possibly six other languages as she bolted across the room, flinging both arms around his neck.

 

"Yeah I missed you too," Clint laughed, squeezing her tightly. He felt Thor's meaty hand grasp his shoulder and he let out a grunt as the speechless thunder god wrapped him in an over zealous bear hug.

 

"It's good to have you home, Hawkeye," Steve declared, prying him free from Thor's grasp and giving him a one armed hug.

 

"It's good to be home," Clint nodded. 

 

"You look good," Bruce beamed at him. Clint took his offered hand.

 

"I feel great," Clint confessed, clapping his arm affectionately as Banner gave his arm a squeeze.

 

"So," Tony observed, completely straight faced as he leaned against the back of the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. "Good as new?"

 

"Little bit better, maybe," Clint nodded, holding his fingers a hairs breadth apart. They stared at each other in silence a moment before Clint shook his head, crossing the room in three long strides to wrap both arms around Tony's shoulders.

 

"Thanks man," Clint's voice wavered against Tony's ear and Stark screwed his eyes shut, raising his arms to hesitantly hug back.

 

"Any time," Tony nodded. Clint pulled away with a laugh and Tony met his gaze with a half smile, ruffling Barton's hair teasingly.

 

"I'm starving," Tony insisted, turning toward the pile of delivery boxes. "So movie night tonight." Clint nodded in agreement.

 

"Your turn to pick," Tony declared, handing Clint a plate.

 

"Yeah," Clint nodded, grinning at each of them in turn. "that'd be fantastic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Roll Credits, Queue; U2 - [Stuck in a Moment](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXLjqc3hlEQ) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXLjqc3hlEQ)]   
>  
> 
> Much of this fic was inspired by some reading I've been doing on advances in medical prosthetics. There is some really amazing work going on that is changing the way we look at the brain and the way we repair the human body. If any of you are planning for college and trying to decide on a major in Applied Sciences, I'd like to encourage you to think hard about Neural Engineering. It's not nearly as glamorous as Computer Design  or a host of other really popular fields and it's not necessarily going to make you more attractive at parties but it's a field in which you can make a real difference in peoples lives instead of just helping them waste time on facebook. Of course, you could end up building the Borg too... but I'm going to trust you not to do that. Technology like this really isn't far off, but we're never going to get there if the young Tony Starks don't step up. So get out there and fix the Hawkeys of the world, my friends, because I'm too old to get into MIT.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel the need to tell me in greater detail how I've traumatized you? Go for it:  
> [niennanir.tumblr.com](http://niennanir.com)


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